Editor's note: Earlier this week, we ran a story about social clubs that hang out in Disneyland.
We continue to find the phenomenon fascinating, and so when
photographer Joshua Cobos sent us some photos he took while documenting
the posses, gangs, and packs over the past couple months, we felt
compelled to post them.
It would be a stretch to call them gangs. With names like Main Street Elite, Disney's Villains, Disney's Resort Imbeciles, Turbo Jugend Disneyland, and Mickey's Pink Ladies, I'm pretty sure no one sees them as a threat. After all, they're just friends (mostly adults) who want to hang out with like-minded people at a theme park a couple times a month.
I'm all for doing whatever you damn please in our great country, especially at an American institution like Disneyland. I just can't shake the feeling that some of these people—the ones who hand-crafted their jackets, carefully sewed on their patches, and meticulously curated their lapel flair—are merely poor souls who just want to belong to something.
It's probably safe to assume they got recruited the same way little homies get down with MS-13. But I guess, instead of jumping its initiates and coercing them into first-degree murder, Main Street Elite probably just tickles the shit out of them and makes them ride Space Mountain (or whatever) until they blow chunks.
But hey, good for you, man. You're your star player, and you should do whatever makes you happy. Even if you have to drown out the voice inside your head that keeps asking, What the fuck has my life become?
It would be a stretch to call them gangs. With names like Main Street Elite, Disney's Villains, Disney's Resort Imbeciles, Turbo Jugend Disneyland, and Mickey's Pink Ladies, I'm pretty sure no one sees them as a threat. After all, they're just friends (mostly adults) who want to hang out with like-minded people at a theme park a couple times a month.
I'm all for doing whatever you damn please in our great country, especially at an American institution like Disneyland. I just can't shake the feeling that some of these people—the ones who hand-crafted their jackets, carefully sewed on their patches, and meticulously curated their lapel flair—are merely poor souls who just want to belong to something.
It's probably safe to assume they got recruited the same way little homies get down with MS-13. But I guess, instead of jumping its initiates and coercing them into first-degree murder, Main Street Elite probably just tickles the shit out of them and makes them ride Space Mountain (or whatever) until they blow chunks.
But hey, good for you, man. You're your star player, and you should do whatever makes you happy. Even if you have to drown out the voice inside your head that keeps asking, What the fuck has my life become?
